Thinking of Writing

I wonder if Zuckerberg et. all knew what Facebook would turn into when it was created. I wonder if he knew it would be a landing spot for predators, a privacy wash, a constant mental strain, a CIA, lack of anonimity field day.

I don't know if he knew, as a kid, that's what his social media platform would become. Maybe he thought it would be more like freedom--freedom of speech, freedom of thought, etc. Maybe neither. I know, now, that he knows what it is, has gained enough incredible wealth from it to understand...so much that he doesn't really care what it will be.

I know what it has become for me--a wasteland, a place for mansplainers/racists/dickpicktators to roam free, time away from my kids, time I could have spent writing, time thinking, running, laughing...precious time. Precious and few moments are ticking away, and I don't know how long my say in this world will be. I'm already 33. I have so much I want to do and see, and I don't want to have to worry about whether people know what I'm doing and seeing in this world, what my profile pic will be. I don't want to worry about the vanity of every moment, displaying the mundane as if it were EVERYTHING, then falling down in the abysmal, the drain of knowing it is all fake.

I want to create, not remake myself into a persona made of memes, gifs and snarky sayings. So I hit delete. And Facebook reassured me that it would welcome me back with open arms, told me to send a message to my friends, let them know where I'll land. But they aren't my friends if they don't know my number.

I can't say I'll be forever gone. I'll miss pictures of my nephews and nieces, who I never get to see. I'll miss sharing my kid pics with my family. I have a job that Facebook feeds. So, the hiatus might be short, but it will be heavenly.

Because after delete I found myself signing in, muscle memory, into an account suspended. Not just one, twice or three times, but constantly, though out the day. And I was worried for my brain, a brain I thought was too smart to be programmed in that way. But it's not. I am as susceptible to vanity, anger, ignorance, ego and obsession as any human. Maybe more, as a woman with a mood disorder.

So are my kids. And I don't want them to see me fall into the zombie sleep of Facebook memes, so I let go. I'll miss some of you, but I can find you off line. Don't worry, Zuckerberg, about my leaving. You'll be fine.

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Author

H.M Jones is the author of B.R.A.G Medallion Honor and NIEA finalist book Monochrome, its prequel Fade to Blue, the Adela Darken Graphic Novellas, Al Ravien's Night, The Immortals series, and several short stories.